


Red Meat Codas

by faequeentitania



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Coda, Confessions, Crying, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Gen, Hugs, Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/pseuds/faequeentitania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles I wrote in the emotional fallout of "Red Meat".</p><p>Chapter 1) Aftermath: In the moments between the sound of the gunshot that killed Corbin and Dean's talk with Michelle, he lets himself fall apart a little.</p><p>Chapter 2) Character Bleed: They've shot some pretty heavy episodes before, but Red Meat was one that Jensen was really grateful to put behind them. All he wanted now was to spend some time with Jared that didn't involve fake blood and bullets.</p><p>Chapter 3) Confession: Dean just wants to get the hell home and let Sam rest. He just wants to put this horrible, miserable hunt behind him and get some sleep. But Sam can see right through him, and he won't let Dean get away with his bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to leave these at a GA rating, though there is some generous use of the F-word in the third story. We can handle that, can't we?

Dean was so used to covering up his fear with sarcasm that there wasn’t any thought before “ _Took you long enough”_ fell from his lips like the utter jackass he was.

The echo of the gunshot was still ringing in Dean’s ears and he felt seconds away from flying apart at the seams; his mind consumed with nothing but Sam in the OR, the doctors patching him up despite the chaos they had brought into the medical center.

The door opened and Dean rose immediately, anxiety radiating through every nerve in his body. He listened to the doctor explain what had happened; how his brother had gone into shock when he was suffocated, how it had shut his body down, but Sam was going to be okay. Sam was stitched up and someone out there was certainly looking out for him because a wound like that by all means should have ripped through something vital, but it hadn’t.

Dean absorbed this information in slow motion, his world only starting to turn properly again when he was allowed in to where Sam was resting.

Sam looked up as he came in, giving him a small, tired smile and Dean’s knees nearly buckled with the relief that washed over him. All of the emotions; every terrified, grief-stricken, heartsick, horrible one he had suppressed and suppressed and suppressed in the last 24 hours erupted through the numbness and he was at Sam’s side in an instant.

Sam grunted as Dean wrapped his arms tight around him, leaning over Sam where he was propped up in the hospital bed, looking so goddamn battered and bruised it made Dean feel physically ill.

“It’s ok,” Sam whispered, guiding him gently down to sit beside him on the bed and winding his long arms around Dean, “It’s ok, Dean, I’m ok.”

Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice, the burn of bile still lingering in the back of his throat from throwing up all those fucking pills barely four hours ago.

Four hours ago, when he thought Sam was dead.

“Shh...” Sam was murmuring, stroking his hair and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck, his warm breath suddenly the entirety of Dean’s focus. If he concentrated, he could feel where Sam’s heart was beating against Dean’s own; a steady and calm counterpoint to the mad dash happening in his Dean’s rib cage.

“Hey, come on,” Sam said softly, his hand pulling gently at Dean’s shoulder, “I wanna go home, ok? Let’s go home, Dean.”

Dean took a shuddering breath and pulled back, looking at Sam’s bruised and exhausted face and vowing again and again to himself that he would never see Sam’s broken and bleeding body on the floor ever again. Just one of the many lies he told himself to survive.

“Yeah,” he croaked, nodding, “Ok, Sammy. Home.”


	2. Character Bleed

Jensen was so fucking glad to be wrapped. They’d filmed some pretty intense shit before, but “Red Meat” was up there as one of the most undoubtedly emotionally draining episodes they had ever shot.

He pounded on Jared’s trailer door, anxious to be gone from the set for the day. He needed to decompress, spend time with Jared that didn’t involve fake blood and bullets.

“Come in!” Jared’s voice shouted from within, and Jensen opened the door and stepped inside. He drew up short at the sight of Jared wrestling a t-shirt over his head, clearly fresh from a shower. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this since they started filming this episode, but somehow the knowledge that they wouldn’t be coming back tomorrow to reapply it made all the difference. Jensen watched Jared’s abdominal muscles flex, completely clear of blood and bullet wound prosthetics, and something inside him unraveled.

Jared shook his head as it emerged through the neckline of the shirt, wet hair sticking to his face.

“Hey, I’m almost ready, just gotta throw shoes on,” he began to assure Jensen, when Jensen found himself across the room and pressed against Jared, hugging him tightly.

Jared huffed at the impact, swaying slightly from the unexpected force, but immediately hugged back.

“You ok?” he asked gently, and Jensen sighed.

“I’m just being stupid,” he murmured in answer, “I hate seeing you bloodied up like that. The rational part of me knows it’s not real; I watch them put all the fake blood on you for god’s sake. But when we’re in it and I’m Dean I start to forget the difference. It freaks me out.”

Jared hugged a little tighter and stroked Jensen’s back comfortingly.

“I know,” he said softly, “But we’re ok now, you know? Sam and Dean, and you and me. We all lived to fight another day. So let’s go home and celebrate that, alright?”

Slowly Jensen pulled back, looking at Jared’s sweet, earnest face, and nodded.

Jensen prided himself on being the sensible, down-to-earth one of their little team, but sometimes he needed a little help. He thanked god that Jared was so willing to offer it.


	3. Confession

The drive from Idaho to Kansas is 20 hours. Dean made it in 17, so desperate to get Sam home and comfortable that he damn near ran anyone off the road who got in his way.

“Take it easy, Dean,” Sam said more than once, feather light touch to Dean’s arm, and Dean relented, just a little. Long enough for Sam not to notice right away when he nudged their speed up again.

They arrived home at some ungodly hour and crawled immediately into bed; stripped down to just boxers after Sam’s antibiotics and painkillers were carefully swallowed.

Dean was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep, all the worst moments from the last 48 hours on repeat through his head. All underscored by a mantra of _Sam Sam Sammy you can’t die fuck Sam please_

He was laying pressed against Sam, his brother on his back to avoid putting pressure on the wound, and Dean’s hand resting gently over Sam’s sternum. He counted each precious heartbeat under his palm, trying to ignore the echo of gunshots in his head and the insurmountable terror of seeing Sam fall, blood pouring from his abdomen.

Sam gave a sleepy little snuffle, twitching restlessly in his sleep, and Dean stroked his thumb over Sam’s skin, trying to ease him. Nevertheless he could feel it when Sam roused out of slumber, but remained silent as Sam yawned before wincing.

“Dean?” Sam slurred in a barely-there whisper, and Dean hummed in response, “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” Dean murmured, “Why?”

“I, uh…” Sam hesitated, “I really want another painkiller. Feels like someone stuffed a hot coal into my abdomen. How long since I took the last one?”

Dean made the effort to squint at the digital clock, “You’ll be fine. I’ll get them.”

It felt better to have something to do, some purpose to serve, so Dean helped Sam gingerly upright before twisting to retrieve the bottle of pills and glass of water from the bedside table.

“Here,” he measured out the number of pills carefully into his own palm before putting them into Sam’s and handing his brother the glass. He listened to Sam swallow in the dark of the room and wordlessly put it all back before helping Sam ease back down onto the mattress.

“Thanks,” Sam murmured, voice tight with pain, and it felt like a bullet to Dean’s own guts to hear Sam suffering.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, settling in again against Sam’s side and returning his hand to his brother’s chest. A few moments passed in silence.

“What did you do when you thought I was dead?”

The question interrupted the millionth replay in Dean’s head of shaking Sam’s limp body and getting no response.

“What?”

“What did you do when you thought I was dead?” Sam’s tone is no nonsense, serious and firm and it makes Dean’s insides twist.

“I already told you, Sammy,” he growled, “Knew you weren’t dead.”

“And I know that’s bullshit. And I know the fact that you’re avoiding the subject means it was something bad. Something you think I’m going to be angry about.”

Dean remained stubbornly silent.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice gentled, Sam’s big hand wrapping around Dean’s where it lay on his chest, “Please.”

“If you know it’s going to piss you off why do you want to know so bad?” Dean growled, “Just let it go, Sam, we’re both fine now.”

“Because I can’t fucking lose you, asshole,” the bottom of Dean’s stomach dropped out at the edge of tears in Sam’s voice, “I can’t have you flinging yourself off of cliffs for me.”

“You were dead,” Dean cut in sharply, “You were fucking dead, Sam. You didn’t lose me, I lost you. Of course I tried to get you back.”

“How?” Sam’s voice was quiet and shaky, and Dean felt like the scum of the earth for putting that waver in Sam’s voice after all he had been through already.

He knew Sam would never let this go, not until Dean confessed, even though the thought of doing so made him feel ill with shame.

“Pills,” Dean husked out, feeling like his insides were being raked over coals, “I took as many pills as I could swallow. Begged Billie to give you back to me while a doctor pumped me full of whatever she could to get me to come back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam gasped, and Dean didn’t have to see to know that Sam was crying. Dean was the reason, and he hated himself so deeply for it.

He startled when Sam moved, rolling onto his side with a pained sound and crushing Dean to him so tightly it sent pain radiating through Dean’s broken ribs.

“Easy, easy,” he gasped, and Sam relented, just enough for the pain to ease.

“Don’t-” Sam choked, shaking, “Don’t you ever do anything like that again. Don’t you fucking ever. I fucking get it, ok? I know you don’t want to live without me, I hate that about you but I fucking accept it, alright? I do. But unless I’m on a goddamn coroner’s table about to be pumped full of embalming fluid, you don’t ever do anything like that again. Fucking ever.”

Dean was shaking, clutching Sam tight and fighting the impulse to cry like the pathetic loser he felt like in that moment. He had almost ruined everything because he was too goddamn weak to live without his brother. He felt sick with shame and guilt, feeling Sam tremble and cry in his arms because of Dean.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.“

He felt Sam shake his head, his brother truly falling apart now though it had to be hurting his wound, and Dean couldn’t stop his own tears any longer. All the emotion, all the pain and fear and grief he had felt in the last 48 hours came crashing down on him and he pressed his face into Sam’s shoulder as he lost the iron wall keeping them at bay.

He had no idea how long they were like that, a mess of tears and pain in the dark of the room, but eventually they had nothing left but exhaustion.

“I mean it,” Sam whispered, “I mean every word, Dean. Never again.”

Dean nodded numbly, his head buzzing and his limbs heavy.

“I promise,” he murmured hoarsely, “I promise, Sammy.”


End file.
